"And I blurted it out, Una, the only name I knew, never thinking that you and Marcia were acquaintances."
"Oh, I see," and she smiled a little. "If my name had been plain Jane or even Mary, my reputation would have been safe."
"What rubbish, Una! Can't a fellow and a girl have a chat without—"
"Yes, but the girl mustn't get through eight-foot walls."
"I don't see what difference that makes." She must have given him a swift glance here. But she laughed again. "You evidently don't realize, Jerry, that monasteries are supposed to be taboo for young girls."
"Yes, but you didn't know about it being a monastery," he said seriously.
"Of course, or I shouldn't have dared. But that makes no difference to Marcia. I was there. You told her. Don't you know, Jerry, that it isn't good form to tell everything you know?"
"She guessed it," he muttered. "It's such a lot of talk about nothing." I think Jerry was getting a little warm now. "Suppose you were in there, whose affair is it but yours and mine?"
"Everybody's," she shrugged. "Everybody's business! That ought to be inscribed on the tombstone of every dead reputation. Hic jacet Una Habberton. Nice girl, but she would visit monasteries."
But nothing was humorous to Jerry's mood just then.